The Heirloom

I’m not entirely sure how I came to have this in my possession. I do remember that, some time after Mum passed away, my Dad finally found the strength to have a bit of a sort through her things.

At that time he gave me a small bag with some of her old jewellery in it. Costume jewellery for the most part, but amongst the beads and brooches were items which I recognised as the annual gifts my father used to buy for my mother at Christmas or anniversary times. Perhaps this was one of the earliest of those?

The little silver pendant is badly tarnished. When I opened its now-delicate hinges, a tiny scrap of paper fell out. I scrabbled to pick it up (before the dog) and thanked my lucky stars that I had got there first when I realised that it was a tiny heart-shaped photograph of my dad. It must date from around 1952 at a guess – he would have been about 17 years old.

As I placed it back in its rightful home, I realised that my Mum’s face was also there, side by side with my Dad, as she had always been for 50 years or more. It seemed so poignant.

They are preserved, locked in this silver housing, protected from the world and from illness and death, still so young and alive and in love.

I wonder what tales it could tell, this little heirloom of mine, if it could talk?

I have taken its photograph, so that it can take its rightful place amongst our ongoing family stories.